Page 78 of Emma & Edmund

"So, you haven't," Edmund slowly conceded. "But this all must mean something. To God, to the universe, toyou."

"Do you want to know what I want, Edmund Lockhart?" Emma spat, Molek's taunts and Edmund's begging and the chilly air all working together to sever her last tie of restraint. "I want to sprout wings, fly back to London, and drown the memory of every monster I've met in these woods."

Edmund's eyes grew cold. His jaw set hard, and his brow creased. Be it her imagination or reality, Emma saw outrage simmering just under his skin.

Sinister giggling was the only sound that dared to break the silence.

"Well, that was cruel."

Molek's words threw freezing water over Emma's senses, drenching her in disgrace. Righteous anger still coursed through her, and she had spoken with intention. She had wanted it to cut, to make Edmund stop begging her for something she could not give, but the broken look Edmund had plastered over his odd face seemed to feel even worse.

And that damnthingwould not stop laughing at them, grating her ears, making her clench her fists enough to have her nails dig into her palms. If the Earth opened up and swallowed her whole, she would welcome it as an effective escape.

Not only from Molek but from the broken way Edmund's shoulders slumped, the heartbroken look he cast at her before turning away. Her heart clenched at it, and for one split second, she wanted to reach out. To tell him she was sorry, and if it would take that look from his face forever, she would stay by his side.

Instead, the only thing she could do was throw up her skirts before turning on her heel and running through the brush.

Demonic snickers chased her away.

Chapter 21

Just as the sun began to break the horizon, so too did Emma break the tree line.

She hadn't exactly darted off in the right direction, leaving Edmund and Molek and the whole awful situation as quickly as she could, finding herself in the middle of pre-dawn woods without a path beneath her. With luck, though, she stumbled across one and found her way out.

For a brief moment, she wondered if it was due to Edmund's effort to familiarize her with the trees and brush that she was able to do what she couldn't before when lost with William and Jonathan.

The moment the thought came, however, she did her best to push it from her mind. With the thought came the memory of Edmund's broken face, and her heart lurched at each recollection.

What he had suggested was ridiculous. What he subjected her to, had used her for - intentionally or not - was despicable. Her very heavenly soul was at stake! Those were the thoughts she had to focus on, not the hurt in his eyes. Not the stripping of his ever-present kindness and gentleness. Not the hardened look he had cast on her before she fled.

With only the long yard of Belmont between her and a hot bath, she tried to refocus, to forget.

That proved difficult to do considering how she left Belmont. And who she left Belmont with.

She couldn't exactly waltz through breakfast, even if it was still hours off, without knowing the reaction to her from the previous night. While the dance floor incident was only the fodder for giggles and light jabs, that was before she snuck off and never returned.

A glance up to the balcony proved those doors were tightly shut, and a tug at the locked kitchen entrance yielded no results. Stepping back from the door, with hands on her hips, Emma studied the closed windows, wondering just how much effort it would take to crawl through them. Her corset and dress buttons were still undone, after all, so feasibly it would be easier now more than ever.

Her fingers clasped the windowpane to push the glass open. Just as she began to apply pressure, shadows moved within the room, and footsteps could be heard. As if it had scalded her, Emma snapped her hands back.

Just as she feared, the only option was the front door.

At first, passing through the grand entrance, Belmont was quiet. Eerily quiet. Dead quiet. For that brief moment, Emma thought she might have gotten away with it. Maybe the party was too raucous, any memory of her and Edmund fading in the haze. Maybe no one at all even noticed their disappearance, leaving her to slip into bed and hope the whole night would blow right over.

A gasp that raddled her bones sounded from the second-floor balcony.

With heavy reluctance, her eyes slowly slid up the walls, through the wrought iron banister that held the clutched hand of Victoria Tate. Her other was held in front of her gaping mouth, looking down upon Emma as if she had seen a ghost.

But it wasn't just the young woman. It was almost as if the eyes, the whispers, the hardly shrouded giggles emerged from the walls, waiting for the exact moment she thought she was safe.

"Damn you, Emma Thompson!" A jacket thrown over her mused hair pulled her from her spiraling thoughts, shielding her – however briefly - from the unending eyes. A lanky arm wound around her shoulders, ducking her head in even further as Jonathan Thompson mumbled obscenities above her.

Dragging her along with him, Emma heard the muffled stir of murmurs, the snickers, the jeers - each one piercing her to the core.

Only when a door slammed behind them did the noises finally stop.

As Jonathan ripped his coat off her, she was met with his glaring eyes. While much smaller and narrower than the room she had been residing in for the last several weeks, Jonathan's room was, at the very least, private.

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